Hidden feelings and forgotten memories
by FrancescaBoscorelli
Summary: AU in which Sherlock and Joan are together while the events of episode 1x08 took place. Companion to "Arguments and trust issues". R/R


**A/N: oh look what I did! another one. This one was sort of hard to write, I don't know why it took me forever to finish this and even though I changed a few things I'm still not so happy with this one. I don't know why. **

**Anyways, THANKS FOR READING!**

**Spoilers for episode 1x08 if you haven't watched it.**

* * *

He stormed out of her bedroom, without looking back, when she told him that she knew about Irene; leaving no chance for her to explain. She lay on her empty bed, cursing herself for opening her mouth and causing a fight once more.

The next morning, he didn't speak to or look at her as they stood in the kitchen. She had greeted him sweetly and politely but he barely even spoke, silently turning to walk towards the living room instead.

She followed him, not willing to give up for even one second.

"Okay this has got to stop," she spoke, standing a few feet away from him as he ate his cereal quietly. "This only speaking when spoken to thing. I know you're upset because I went to Alistair and he told me about someone named Irene. I know it was wrong but you never talk, that's why I thought I had to reach out for someone who knew you and I asked him questions. I already said I was sorry"

"I haven't thought about it much, actually" he responded casually.

"We both know that's not true. You stormed out of my room last night when I mentioned her name," she spoke. "I'm your girlfriend, it is my job to ask questions even if you ignore them and I have to look for someone who can actually answer me."

"Could you shoot this to me in an email? I'm much better at processing the written word." He always did this, getting ironic whenever she got too curious, or he closed himself in his own world, like now. She thought for a minute, that he would trust her enough to talk about Irene and what she meant to him. She was wrong.

She pulled up a chair and took a seat in front of him, as close as she could, their knees barely touching. Still he ignored her, or tried to, and focused on his bowl of cereal.

"I know she was important to you otherwise you wouldn't be so upset. Now talk to me Sherlock, please, just don't shoot me down."

His cell phone beeped on the table next to him, he grabbed it, ignoring her words. He sighed, putting down his phone and pulling his chair a little bit closer.

"You're right," he spoke. "I have been cutting you off, I shouldn't have done it. We are together; trust is a very important part of a relationship."

"Good, so you won't shut me down anymore?"

"No" he told her. "Now would you wait for a moment?"

"Of course."

He got up and she waited, happy he was willing to share something with her and this could all be over.

Then the front door closed, and she found herself alone and angry in their living room again.

.

.

.

She had called his phone a thousand time, and he hung up each time. Five minutes ago she was worried, there was the two hour apart ritual he had broken, but now she was beyond being upset.

He had picked up his phone and pretended he couldn't talk. Bad reception, he had lied, but he watched him when he hadn't noticed.

"Let me guess, you want me to wait here for another moment?" She spoke, anger radiating from her body.

"Or you could just leave."

"Okay I don't think ditching me will solve anything. You can ignore me all you want, be upset all you want, but that won't stop asking what I want to know."

"Why? Why won't you just drop all this?"

"Because I know she was important to you, and I have reasons to believe she's a trigger to your problems," she told him. He moved away, walking quickly but she followed.

"Well, she's not."

"Then who was she?"

He hesitated, sighing several times, she thought he was going to speak, to trust her with his personal stories like she had hoped but instead he snapped her.

"Why don't you mind your own business? This relationship was fine until you started asking questions about my life to other people you shouldn't have spoken to. That's what upsets me. Our relationship is OUR relationship, not someone else's. If there's something you wanted to ask me then you should have, you shouldn't have asked people behind my back."

"I did ask you. This morning, remember? When you left me alone," she spoke calmly. "But you're, once again, shutting me down because last night's conversation obviously meant nothing to you. Obviously you don't trust me..."

"Please don't do this now, okay? If you're going to complain about me not being honest can you at least wait until we're home? I had enough already," he said harshly. Joan stepped away from him, taking a few steps back towards the exit.

"Fine then. Sorry to disturb you, I'll see you at home."

He watched her as he walked away, rubbing his face with his hands as he stood there alone.

.

.

.

She had broken yet again another of his rules. 'Don't talk to anyone behind my back', he had told her. But truth be told curiosity was killing her, there was part of her heart that wanted to know who that woman was and what she really meant to him. She was important, that much was true, but it wasn't enough. Joan was certain there was something more.

She had managed to locate the rehab centre where Sherlock had been staying, talked to a few people, but everyone said the same thing; 'he was annoying and infuriating' no news at all. But then she had met a man who gave her something he thought he had forgotten; letters from Irene.

She got home without opening any of them, even though she dying to.

Then she had made the mistake of telling him about it.

He reacted the way she had expected, the same way he had done when she had mentioned her name for the first time, only now he had grabbed the letter and destroyed them.

"If I wanted the letters I would have taken them" he snapped "but I didn't. Which obviously tells you I don't give a damn about them!"

"Sherlock..."

"Why are you doing this again," He asked her. He wasn't as angry as he was before, but still there was a small hint of annoyance."I told you she's in my past, why do you insist on reopening old wounds?"

"I'm not doing that at all. It's not my intention and you know it."

"Well it certainly feels like it." he whispered, sitting on his chair and just like she had done this morning she sat in front of him. This time though it was slightly different for she reached out for him he pulled away, shaking his head. "Sorry no. I'm not ready..." He whispered, immediately standing up and taking a few steps away from her. "I'm sorry."

.

.

.

When the night came she found herself alone, in the kitchen, with a warm cup of tea in her hand. Sherlock had been sitting in front of the fire for hours, just staring at the flames without uttering a single word.

She hadn't said a word either, just because every time she opened her mouth they ended up arguing and she was tired of it.

"I'm going to bed," she told him, standing a few feet away from where was sitting. She sighed when he didn't respond, assuming this was going to another lonely cold night. "Goodnight."

"She died," he suddenly spoke, eyes still focused on the movement of the flames. She stopped midway when she heard him talk, turning around to stand behind him, she waited for him to speak once more (if he wanted to),"I didn't take her passing very well."

He felt her hand resting on his shoulder, his head automatically moved a few inches to his side, feeling the warmth of her hand on his cheek. It was the first time he had shared this with someone, and he felt relieved to let it out of his chest once and for all. He was tired of hiding, tired of keeping this to himself and this being a cause of his arguments with the only woman who had now become a big part of his life.

She walked to stand in front of him, her hand had now moved towards his cold cheek and he leaned in slowly. She noticed his shiny eyes, watering with each passing minute. Even though he had told her what happened to Irene, she knew there was something else, though tonight wouldn't be the time to ask him, he was hurting enough and now all he needed was comfort.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He nodded, moving towards her body, resting his head on her stomach and closing his eyes as she caressed his head tenderly. He had been holding back the tears for so long, afraid to show any sign of weakness to others but now he felt himself free to cry.

He didn't know how long they stood there, holding each other. At some point she had come to sit on his lap and they had ended up staring into the flames quietly as he felt the tears subside, and the pain in his heart no longer there.

**The end.**


End file.
